


Baby, you're nothing but a pipe dream

by MayaWrites



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Author!Andrew, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Neil will be ooc the first few chapters because he technically isn't real, Ruby!Neil, a very loose ruby sparks au, aka the fic where i force Andrew to communicate his feelings, he also emotes a lot in his thoughts, he angsts about it a lot, mentions of riko "fuckface" moriyama, not gonna lie Andrew might be a bit ooc at times, press F for Andrew who can't be bothered with Kevin's constant hounding, press F for Kevin just wanting his best friend to be successful, the angst is really just Andrew trying not to fall in love with a character he made
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28788126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayaWrites/pseuds/MayaWrites
Summary: Andrew Minyard, also secretly known as the successful and mysterious A. M. Doe, has recently hit a stump in his writing after seeing his twin's engagement announcement on Instagram. At the same time, he’s been having these hyper surreal dreams about a boy named Neil Josten who has it in his head to become Andrew’s friend.As a way to get over his writer’s block, Andrew starts writings about Neil and their supposed “relationship,” but soon finds himself falling in love with a figment of his imagination.Determined to not get any more attached to Neil, Andrew makes the decision to stop writing about the understanding damaged boy; however, right after stopping, he finds the boy cooking pancakes in his kitchen the very next day while Andrew’s awake.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Kevin Day/Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Nicky Hemmick/Erik Klose
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	1. the embodiment of autumn

A large unopened cardboard box sits undisturbed in the middle of Andrew’s shared dorm room. He has only been back in Palmetto from his “stay” in Easthaven for a week when the box arrived that morning. He left it in the dorm room to go attend his nine A.M. literature class and has just returned since then. The room is blissfully empty when he came in; no sign of his brother or Kevin around to bother him.

He kneels down in front of the box, the label stating his name and the return address of Wymack’s publishing company: Foxhole and Co. Publishing. The carboard box has the company’s logo slapped on each side and the clear packaging tape is littered with loud orange fox prints. Andrew slips a knife out of his left armband and glides the pointed edge across the tape, then pulls the carboard flaps open, revealing the neatly stacked hardbound books written by A. M. Doe. He grabs one of the many copies and flips the book automatically to the dedication page.

 ** _“To the asshole who kept pestering me to publish my books and the fucker who said my writing is garbage: Fuck you.”_** It said.

A smile almost makes it onto his face. _Almost._

He closes the book to rub his hand over the cover. He traces the book’s glossy title print and rubs the matte background.

The sound of a door opening catches his attention. It’s Kevin, who should be at his American History class and not in their dorm room. Andrew can already feel the headache coming when he sees the tall boy spot the book in his hands.

“Is that it?” Kevin asked, dropping his bag on the floor and shoving his coat off of his body to lay crumpled on top of his bag. Kevin strides towards Andrew and the box with a single-minded purpose and pulls out another copy.

Andrew watches as Kevin looks through book. Kevin flips the book to the very back to read summary on the cover’s sleeve, then he flips back to the title page. He looks in awe, mouth forming a small “o” before spreading into a self-satisfied grin. He gives Andrew a look that screams _“I told you so,”_ but that look is quickly washed away when his thumb stops on the dedication page. A strangled noise escapes him.

“ _This_ is not how you should write a dedication page.” He glowers, tapping angrily at the message.

Andrew smirks at the indignant look on Kevin’s face. “Wymack didn’t change it.”

“He should have!”

Andrew shrugs, then proceeds to drown out the incoming lecture Kevin is about to give, choosing to focus back on the book. **His book.** He turns the page to the first chapter.

“How many copies?” He hears Kevin question.

**_It starts with a car crash that should have ended his life, but instead he found himself blearily blinking up ay bright lights and an incessant high-pitched voice calling out his name._ **

“Andrew!” Kevin shouts, snapping his fingers rudely in front of Andrew’s face. “Are you even listening to me?”

Andrew looks up from his book to give Kevin a bored look. “No.”

Kevin sighs harshly, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he’s the one who can’t stand the other’s company. “How many copies did Dad print?”

“Two hundred fifty.” He answers. Andrew had learned from experience that it’s easier to answer Kevin’s questions than suffering Kevin’s squawking.

“Two hundred fifty…” Kevin repeats in amazement, then he seemingly snaps out of it to list out Andrew’s next steps on the tips of his fingers. “Two hundred fifty is a good starting point, but you need to sell five-thousand books to get on the New York Times Bestseller list; however, I would strive for ten-thousand to really get noticed by readers. Then the moment you’ve made it onto that list, you should begin outlining your next book because you don’t want to become some one-hit wonder that disappears in obscurity because you lost the interest of your readers and…” _Blah, Blah, Blah._

He drowns out Kevin again.

Andrew does not care about selling more book and getting on some list. Almost every book nowadays in a “New York Times Bestseller,” but that does not mean the book is necessarily good. It just means that a collective of people decided to read your book. You can sell thousands of copies of a shitty book and easily call it a bestseller. Look at “Fifty Shades of Gray” as an example, that shit stayed on the list for a twenty-three months, a statistic Andrew only knows because of the ranting roommate in front of him. Andrew is more impressed about his book being printed than getting on a skewed list.

Many manuscripts either immediately get rejected or are sent back to the authors for rewrites. Andrew had no such problems, and it isn’t because Foxhole and Co. Publishing is owned by Kevin’s father who has this reputation on placing his trust—not the best business strategy if you asked Andrew—on “nobody writers” who he believes show some “promise.” Andrew had sternly told him not to bother printing his book if it sucks; he didn’t need or want his pity. Wymack had rolled his eyes and gruffly told him that he does not waste his money printing out garbage, and that is the only reason Andrew relented in sending his manuscript to him. (That combined with Kevin’s pushing and Aaron’s condescending taunts).

**_“Do you have any relatives or friends that we can contact for you?” The overly preppy nurse asked him._ **

**_Beep…Beep… His heart beats steadily on the monitor, betraying nothing of how he feels._ **

**_You were in an accident, they said. You were lucky to survive._ **

**_He breathes in the smell of disinfectant and embraces the sound of shuffling feet outside his door. The white ceiling and the long luminescent bulbs hurt to look out. He feels cold and warm at the same time. He can’t feel his legs._ **

**_“I have no one.” He finally answers. “No one at all.”_ **

*

“Today’s a special day.”

Today being Andrew’s (and Aaron’s) twenty-fifth birthday is what Bee’s really trying to say.

Bee’s office in New York looks completely different from her office back in Palmetto. The walls are painted a dusky blue instead of industrial gray, and her desk is a dark lacquered wood, replacing the ugly metal box she used to sit behind. Hanging shelves line the back of her wall filled with a random assortment of knick-knacks, glass figurines, books on topics like psychology and self-help, and that one DSM-5 book. One of her shelves in particular is dedicated to A. M. Doe’s books that are propped up by a cartoonish red fox bookend.

“It’s just another day.” Andrew says. He keeps his eyes on the steaming hot chocolate drink cupped between his hands, the steam warming him up and waking his senses. His appointments with Bee are always at nine-thirty in the morning, but as a night owl who gets most of his writing done at odd hours of the early morning, it might as well be five A.M. for him.

Except he hasn’t written anything in over a month since he saw his twin’s engagement post on Instagram where his cousin Nicky commented _“CONGRATULATIONS! I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!”_ with a string of sparkly pink hearts and an excessive use of exclamation points. Even far, far away in Germany, his cousin finds a way to be loud. The rest of the foxes and some unknown friends of Aaron and Katelyn commented on the post with their congratulations and positive messages. Andrew had commented a single period on the post and purposely did not double-tap the picture of his twin holding a blushing Katelyn showing off the sizeable diamond ring on her left hand.

“Do you have any special plans today after our session?” Bee asks.

Andrew did have plans. He was going to get very drunk on whisky, inhale the chocolate birthday cake Renee had made for him, and watch Buzzfeed Unsolved until sleep eventually finds him; however, his plans are ultimately ruined by Aaron, or more specifically, Katelyn.

“I’m eating out with Aaron.” He says.

A tiring dinner where he’s sat next to his grumbling twin who would rather spend his day off from the hospital with his ~~lovely~~ ~~girlfriend~~ _fiancée_ than his own twin brother. The feeling is mutual. If it were not for Katelyn’s insistence and the very well-timed hospital shift she took, Aaron and Andrew would have sent each other a “Happy Birthday, asshole/dickhead” text and be done with it.

“That sounds nice. Where do you guys plan on going?”

“The Trojans.” A fancy four-star Mediterranean restaurant that Kevin helped book for him tonight at six because he happens to be dating Jeremy Knox, the head chef of the restaurant. A fully paid dinner courtesy of Kevin’s wallet that Andrew will be abusing. He’s looking forward to the restaurant’s popular desserts: chocolate mascarpone baklava with coffee syrup and a white chocolate tart. Andrew inwardly smiles at the thought of a red-faced Kevin looking over the bill and seeing everything him and Aaron ordered.

“I heard their baklava taste phenomenal.”

“I’m banking on it.” And the wine that will be served with their meals. It’s a four-star restaurant, so he expects that the wine’s high price will reflect its taste—not that the price matters when Kevin will be paying for it all.

_“As your best friend—” Kevin starts._

_“Renee’s my best friend.” Andrew interrupts. Kevin glares at him._

_“As your best friend,” He says loudly. “I’ll book and pay for your dinner as a birthday present”_

_“A bad choice.”_

_“I can handle it.” Kevin assures him._

_Andrew raises a brow. Challenge accepted._

“What would you like to discuss today, Andrew?” Bee asks, prompting Andrew to lift his bowed head from his half-empty hot chocolate.

This is one of the things that Andrew has come to appreciate about Betsy Dobson. The way she makes him choose the topic rather than create one herself. When Andrew had his first session with Dr. Dobson, he was determined to stay stubbornly silent. He had been in front of many therapists wanting to psychoanalyze his orphaned background, his “temperamental” mood swings, and his avoidance of touch to slap a label on his forehead. He had no doubts that Dr. Dobson was the same as those child therapists except allowed to prescribe him his court mandated drugs. It took five sessions to dismantle that notion in his head, and Andrew began to slowly open up to her.

After knowing each other for a total of eight years (and counting), she could have asked him to dissect a horrible childhood memory or discuss the rocky relationship he has with Aaron, but after all these years Bee continues to do the one thing that helped Andrew open up to her in the first place: giving him the reins on any topic of his choosing. Andrew could stay quiet for the rest of the session if he wanted to, effectively wasting her time and his money; Bee wouldn’t bat an eye and would fill the silence with a conversation he is not required to respond back unless he chooses to.

Aaron’s upcoming wedding is probably the topic he should be discussing with Bee but what comes out of his mouth is “I’ve been having these dreams lately about some boy.”

“Oh?” Bee’s tone is inquisitive but not invasive. “Does this person have a name.”

Andrew shakes his head. “No. I don’t know. I never met him before. I think I made him up and he somehow manifested in my dreams?”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because he doesn’t look real.” Andrew pauses to gulp down the remaining hot chocolate left in his mug. He continues holding the mug even though it’s empty and the warmth of the ceramic is quickly fading now that there’s nothing in it. “To be specific, he does not look like what society would deem normal.”

Bee nods, taking in his words before responding “Does he have horns or a tail? Perhaps instead of horns, it’s fox ears?”

Andrew snorts. “I’m not describing the devil or some furry, Bee. Are you trying to get a peek of my psyche?”

“No, nothing of the sort.” Bee shakes her head. “You said that society would not deem this boy as normal, so I was just assuming he looks supernatural.”

Andrew closes his eyes. His brain conjures the image of auburn red hair, the shade of autumn leaves, and azure blue eyes, reminiscent of clear-blue sky mornings back in Columbia. An unnaturally pretty face with—

“Scars.” He says. “He looks like a normal person, but he has scars marring his face.”

“Not so normal then?” Bee muses with a hum.

“Normal people have scars.” Andrew says, the skin hidden beneath his armbands start to itch. He slips a finger underneath of of the bands and scratches lightly at the thin jagged lines running across his arm.

Bee follows the movement with her eyes but thankfully keeps her mouth shut. Her eyes travel back to meet his. There is no sign of pity or admonishment in her gaze, just quiet unnerving understanding. Bee knows about how he used knives on his skin instead on his attackers, and that with every painful moment he felt at night, he matched it with a bloody line on his arm.

“You’re right. They do.” She finally says after a moment of silence on Andrew’s part. “What else would you like to talk about today, Andrew?” It’s a subtle invitation to change the topic onto lighter areas and he feels weak at how glad he is for taking the bait, switching the topic to Kevin’s latest mission to bother Andrew into sending his new manuscript for him to edit despite how his newest book has only been in stores for two months.

*

Dinner with Aaron went exactly as he expected it to.

He arrived at the _The Trojans_ precisely on the dot and was led to his table by a server where he had found his brother waiting for him with a glass of wine in his hand. The fucker had ordered himself a drink without him.

He sat down on the other end of the table and they exchanged stilted birthday greetings before turning their attention to the menus given to them by their server. Without speaking a word, they agreed (almost telepathically) to drain Kevin’s wallet without a care by ordering the most expensive wine on the list to go with their equally expensive meal. They sat in veritable silence throughout the whole dinner.

Aaron looked like he wanted to say something to Andrew but had stopped himself each time. Andrew had no qualms about ignoring his twin. The only other time Andrew spoke was to order his dessert while Aaron has absentmindedly talked about the prices of flowers. Andrew’s raised eyebrow stopped Aaron in the middle of his complaint before they went back to stewing in silence as they ate.

With the bill paid for them, there was no reason for Andrew and Aaron to stay in the restaurant after their meal, having just fulfilled their familial obligations to each other, so they ended the night going home in separate Ubers.

Upon arriving at his place, Andrew made a beeline towards his office where his typewriter sits upon his nice mahogany desk. Andrew shrugs off his blazer and drapes it behind his chair, sitting down with hands poised above the black lettered keys.

He types a word, then a few sentences, before ultimately removing the paper from feed roller and crumpling it up.

 **Nothing**.

Another day will pass with nothing to come of it. A new experience that Andrew has never felt until now. The dreaded writer’s block, hindering all types of writers everywhere. Writer’s block happens to uninspired and unimaginative individuals—not Andrew.

 _Fucking Aaron._ He curses in his head.

Resigned with the fact that he wouldn’t be able to get any writing down tonight either, Andrew pushes himself off of his chair and walks to the kitchen to grab the whisky Reynolds had gifted to him after the release of his book three months ago. It was a bragging gift, bordering on thoughtful and vindictive. A six-hundred dollar, limited-release whisky from Japan—a.k.a _“expensive shit you’ll never be able to purchase again, so be grateful, little monster.”_ The comment almost got Reynolds shanked, but it was Renee’s fierce eyes that stopped him in his place. Andrew remembered explicitly telling the blondie to fuck off and immediately searched for the same whisky on his phone.

The smug look on Reynold’s face almost made him unscrew the bottle cap to pour out its contents on the pristine floor of her apartment when he saw that there were no more releases of the bottle in his hand. To set things clear, Andrew can afford the price of the whisky, even the “punch-in-the-gut” shipping fee to get it from Japan to New York; however, there were no more bottles left for sale unless the company chooses to release it a third time. It’s unlikely going to happen which is why he was saving that shit up after the first glass.

Until now. Six-hundred-dollar whisky is disappearing tonight. It’s either drinking or chain-smoking cigarettes. Aaron, being the infuriating ~~doctor~~ _resident_ , would appreciate destroying his kidneys versus his lungs (if he even cared about Andrew’s well-being as distracted as he is with _Katelyn_ ). It will also spare him Kevin’s lectures (not that he cares about that idiot’s opinion) and links about lung cancer from Nicky.

So he grabs the bottle he kept hidden on the top most shelf, climbing up his countertop to each it, and unscrews the cap.

*

_There’s a lit cigarette in Andrew’s hand. Andrew does not remember lighting it, but the smoke trails lazily in the air. His back is against a tree, the bark is digging at his back, and the grass underneath him feels wet._

_“It’s you again.” A unfamiliar voice mused._

_Andrew turns his head, and there under the spring sun is the embodiment of autumn. Red hair, blue eyes, scars, and upon closer inspection, freckles dotting sun-kissed skin._

_The stranger is staring at him. His eyes curious instead of fearful. There are no signs of apprehension which makes Andrew immediately think that this person is an idiot. It’s odd because he’s used to people staring at him with distrustful gazes or lustful eyes—not the openness or curiousness of the redhead in front of him._

_Andrew looks down at his attire. He’s wearing his usual all-black ensemble. Nothing about the way he looks communicates friendliness like Renee’s sundresses and her rainbow-colored hair. Andrew keeps his face carefully blank._

_“Do I know you?”_

_“No.” The redhead shook his head._

_“Have we met before?” Andrew makes sure that the drawl of his voice is untinged with any type of emotion. It’s a sure way to unnerve people and get them to leave him alone._

_“No.” The redhead looks amused, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards._

_‘Then why the hell are you bothering me?’ Is what he wants to ask, but he chooses to turn his head away from the stranger. If they don’t know each other then there’s no reason to engage in forced conversation that will only leave Andrew feeling bored. He doubts that he was approached by the stranger because he recognizes Andrew as A. M. Doe, being a “faceless” author and all; however, this stranger knows enough of what he looks like to comment **“It’s you again.”**_

_Andrew does not know how he feels about that. To be recognized for something he does not know about. He should feel unnerved, maybe even fucking alarmed that a stranger he’s never met recognizes him from an encounter he wasn’t aware of, but he feels calm. The only warning signs in his head is how attractive the stranger looks like._

_Andrew glances back at the stranger. He’s still staring at him._

**_Breathe_ ** _, he thinks to himself. Breathe and ignore the weirdo unabashedly staring at you. The cute weirdo who’s just standing there while you’re sat on the ground. There’s an imbalance pf height that Andrew would normally rectify by standing up and leaving, but his limbs feel abnormally heavy._

_“Can I sit down beside you?” The redhead randomly asks._

_Andrew gives him his best glare. “What do you think?”_

_The redhead shrugs, unaffected. “Yes or no?”_

_Andrew looks at him. Really looks at him, from the top of his unruly cloves and the stretched out long-sleeved shirt to the faded jeans and the beaten-up running shoes. He is not tall, only three inches taller than Andrew. He’s a pretty face with an abysmal fashion sense—not a threat to Andrew in any ways other than being very pleasing to look at. He looks away._

_“Do what you want.” Andrew says, then “Yes” when the stranger continues to just stand there._

_The redhead sits down next to him, but he leaves a comfortable amount of space between them, enough to avoid bumping shoulders and accidental touching like a knew touching his. The redhead isn’t really sitting next to Andrew with how far he us, but Andrew can still feel his presence without looking at his direction. It’s a very loud presence (he’s interpreting it as loud) even with the veritable silence they found themselves in. Andrew does not expect the silence to last long and he’s soon proven right._

_“So what’s your name?”_

_“Why should I tell you?”_

_“We’re in the middle of a seemingly empty park with no one around and you won’t tell me your name? A bit suspicious if you ask me.” Andrew looks around at his surroundings and notes that the park **is** unnaturally empty for what people would consider ‘a nice day.’_

_“It’s a good thing I’m not asking then.” Remembering about the cigarette in his hand, Andrew takes a long drag, then he turns towards the redhead and blows the smoke directly at his face. He blinks his eyes but does not get up to leave like Andrew was expecting him to do. He sits perfectly at ease, breathing in the second-hand smoke._

_What the fuck._

_“Andrew.” He relents after a beat. He hopes that’s the end of the conversation, but experiences with Nicky tells him the exact opposite._

_“Andrew,” The redhead repeats, his voice warm. “I’m… Neil. Neil Josten.”_

_“Did you forget your name? Actually, never mind. I don’t care. I didn’t ask for your name or your last name.” Andrew takes another drag of his cigarette before dumping it inside a plastic cup filled partially with water that’s conveniently next to him._

_“You gave me yours. I’ll give you mine.” ~~The redhead~~ **Neil** shrugs._

_“You’re an idiot for giving a stranger your name.” Andrew points out._

_Neil laughs, a wide grin spreading across his face. He laughs with his whole body, Andrew observed, leaning forward and clutching his stomach. “Why? Plan on stalking me?”_

_“No.” He grits out._

_“Too bad.” Neil remarks, grin still in place._

_There’s something about Neil Josten that’s grinding his nerves and it’s not just Neil being good-looking. Andrew should feel uncomfortable with the boy’s interloping presence, but he only feels a mild annoyance at the redhead. In hindsight, it’s a problem because he can feel his curiosity growing at Neil’s blatant disregard of safety—talking to Andrew of all people. He needs to stomp out his interest before it grows._

_He looks around the park again. Still empty._

_Andrew tests the feeling in legs. It does not feel as heavy as it did before Neil started talking to him. Andrew finally gets up, water cup in hand containing his discarded cigarette. He fully intends to find a garbage bin and leave; however, something makes him choose to acknowledge Neil’s presence one last time. “You have no sense of danger and you’re going to get yourself killed one day.”_

_Neil’s smile fades and his eyes dim. “You have no idea.”_

_That stops Andrew from leaving. “What do you—”_

_“Goodbye, Andrew.”_

*

Andrew jolts awake. His neck and back are killing him for falling asleep on the couch. The six-hundred-dollar whisky is on the floor, completely drained of its contents, and his mouth taste like ash.

Unbidden and unwanted, the image of Neil Josten flits in his mind. The sudden urge to write consumes Andrew and he finds himself once more in his office. He loads new paper to the feed roller and adjusts the alignment.

Hands poised above the keytop, he begins to write about red hair, blue eyes, and crisscrossing scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you for reading the first chapter of this mess. If you have decided to read this fic, I am truly sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes. The English language is weird and I don't have a beta or friend I can trust to read through any of the chapters I make to catch my mistakes. (That's not entirely true but they're busy with college life and writing essays that are not written in English). 
> 
> Also, spring semester of my college starts on Tuesday, Jan 20, so updates might take a while but I'm determined to see this fic through since I already planned out the entire thing.
> 
> Comments would be greatly appreciated so I know if the story is even interesting.
> 
> Till the next chapter. Bye!
> 
> P.S. I haven't written anything is literal years so the quality of the chapters will be horrible until I get my "writing groove" back


	2. chocolate soup with marshmallows and nuts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha. Funny story, this chapter is un-betad. We die like men, folks. I apologize, but there was nothing else my best friend and I can do when it comes to writing in English.

_Andrew’s not surprised to see Neil again despite the location change. Neil has become a such a consistent presence every time he closes his eyes, that nothing that happens in his dreams faze him anymore. He could be meeting Neil at a park during the sweltering summer heat or drinking coffee with Neil at a café, watching the autumn leaves tinted red, purple, and gold fall to the ground._

_Time is inconsequential in his dreams, and so is his developing ~~relationship~~ acquaintanceship with Neil Josten. What seems like only a few days passing since meeting Neil, feels a lot longer for the person in question. Neil has this knowledge about Andrew that would suggest that he has known him for a significant amount of time—time and memories that Andrew is not privy to._

_Andrew is half-lucid during these dreams, aware that what is happening in his dream is not reality. It’s why the changing of the weather or Neil’s notion of their “friendship” does not cause any alarms to ring in his head. He can still say no to Neil if he needs to or wake himself up if the situation is unpleasant._

_Nothing can truly hurt him in his dreams. The more “Neil-filled” his dreams are, the less he dreams about hands pining him down on a small twin sized bed. In other words, dreams about Neil Josten are welcomed._

_Today Andrew finds himself in a very familiar place. He’s on the roof deck of his apartment building, staring out at the horizon, when he hears the door to the roof creak open. He already knows who it is before even turning to look at the intruder—has been expecting it._

_“You’re late.” He says._

_Neil smiles sheepishly at him by the entrance. He’s wearing a threadbare hoody, grey joggers and a black peacoat that suspiciously looks like the one Andrew owns. His messy auburn curls are hidden under an ugly bright orange beanie embroidered with the word “FOXES” in white blocked letters (a beanie that Nicky had gifted Andrew back in PSU)._

_Seeing Neil wearing articles of his clothing doesn’t faze Andrew either. He stopped questioning the intricacies his mind comes up with during his dreams a week ago, and Andrew can’t say he doesn’t enjoy seeing Neil in his clothes. He can admit that to himself because it’s only a dream and Neil doesn’t exist. He couldn’t hurt Andrew even if he tried._

_“You would think that after five months of coming here, I’d be recognized by your doorman by now.” Neil explains, coming over to Andrew’s side._

_He stands close to Andrew but keeps five feet of space between them. With how familiar Neil has been acting in his dreams, Andrew deems the forced distance kind of ridiculous when it’s obvious that Neil wants to be closer to him._

_Andrew rolls his eyes and grabs onto Neil’s sleeve, pulling him closer to his side. Neil looks surprised at first before shifting his expression into something softer as if he feels comforted by Andrew’s presence. Andrew **hates** it._

_“Don’t look at me like that.” Andrew says._

_“Look like what?” Neil asks._

_Andrew is not going to elaborate it for him. He can figure it out himself. Why should Andrew have to explain how he feels about Neil’s attachment to him. Neil’s not even real, he’s a made-up character his brain created to deal with the simmering anger he feels towards his brother. He probably, albeit unconsciously, forced Neil to **like** his company because who else but a figment of his imagination (excluding Renee and Kevin) would enjoy being around Andrew when his own twin brother can’t stand being alone with him?_

_“What?” Neil asks again like the oblivious bastard he is._

_“I hate you.” Andrew tells him._

_“So you say.” Neil replies nonchalantly._

_“I really, really hate you.” Andrew reiterates._

_“That’s fine with me.”_

_Andrew peers over the edge of the roof. It would be so easy to push Neil down and end the dream right then and there before Neil says something truly stupid. It’s a tempting thought, but he isn’t ready to be rid of Neil’s presence just yet. The dream had just started, but if he woke up now, he’ll be all alone in his apartment with the typewriter menacingly mocking him for being unable to produce anything good. It’s as if his hands are cursed to churn out draft after horrible draft. Sleeping is also a reprieve from Renee’s concerned texts and the angry emails from Kevin. It helps that he doesn’t mind the company in his dreams…_

_… **sometimes**. _

_“Sometimes I feel like you’re not really here.” Neil says suddenly, pulling Andrew back from his thoughts._

_Even in his dreams he’s prone to overthinking. Great._

_“Maybe I’m not here.” Andrew agrees. It’s hard to say you’re truly present when you’re dreaming. It’s also a bit ironic that Neil would be the one to question Andrew’s presence. “Or maybe you’re the one who’s not here.”_

_“What do you mean?” Neil asks, tone clipped._

_“How do I know you’re here? That you’re real.” Andrew has never tried to question Neil’s existence until now. He’s curious to see how far he could push the limits of his dream. How would Neil react if Andrew voices out the truth: that Neil Josten is nothing but a pipe dream whose only purpose is to keep Andrew company._

_“I’m right here, aren’t I?” Neil bristles showing agitation at Andrew’s words._

_“But are you?” Andrew retorts. ““That doesn’t necessarily prove that you’re here, or that you’re real.”_

_“I don’t understand what game you’re playing at, Andrew.”_

_“Well you’re not real, so I doubt that you’d understand.” Andrew pulls his gaze away from the ground, only to face Neil’s tense form. The idiot has a troubled expression on his face, brows knitted together, and lips pressed into a thin, hard line. His hands are curled into fists, knuckles turning visibly white, and Andrew can hear the soft sharp gasps of breath._

_Now that Andrew is keyed into Neil’s reaction, he can see that despite how tense the redhead is, Neil is also trembling._

_“Neil,” He calls. “Neil.” He tries again even louder._

_Neil slowly lowers himself to the floor, bringing his shaking fists to the sides of his head. Andrew watches wide eyed, unsure of what to do. Neil’s curled up form answers Andrew’s previous questions._

_By questioning Neil’s existence, Andrew has managed to shatter the dream’s peace. He should wake up, allow the dream to fade away and forget this moment ever happened, but he can’t just leave Neil panicking on the ground no matter how unreal he is._

_For a flash of a moment, Andrew sees himself in Neil’s place. He’s hiding inside his closet, begging a god that wouldn’t listen for nobody to enter his room. Hands pressed against his mouth as he tries to stifle his harsh gasps._

_Andrew blinks the image away, focusing back on the present-at-hand: calming Neil down. He crouches down next to Neil and hesitantly hovers his hand on the back of Neil’s neck._

_Should he touch him? Is he allowed to touch Neil while he’s going through a panic attack? Neil’s soft gasps grows louder in volume, and Andrew firmly lays his hand on Neil’s neck. The skin beneath his palm is sweaty and he wonders, not for the first time, if this is okay._

_“Neil, breathe.” Andrew says. “Can you hear me? Breathe.”_

_Neil nods frantically, but he continues to loudly gasp in pain. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakily tries to slowly suck in deep breaths._

_Andrew keeps his hand on Neil’s neck, unsure if his presence is causing more or less damage to the trembling redhead. After a few minutes, Neil’s breathing starts to even out and Andrew carefully retracts his hand from Neil’s nape. Andrew’s legs choose that time to give out on him. His ass hitting the ground as the exhaustion from holding a crouched position catches up with him._

_He lies down, looking up at the starless sky. This is the moment that Andrew should apologize but what comes out of his mouth is something taunting. “Fuck, Josten, was it something I said?”_

_Andrew wants to bitterly laugh at the situation. Even in his dream he can’t say what he means. His dreams can’t always be good. It was only a matter of time before he fucked things up with Neil too, just like he has with anybody who’s ever met him._

_He hears more than sees Neil crawling towards him. His body involuntarily tenses up in anticipation and dread, then relaxes when Neil comes to lie down next to him._

_How fucking weak of him._

_“I’m sorry.” Neil says, voice rough._

_“The fuck are you apologizing for?” He asks bitterly._

_‘Get away from me,’ he thinks. ‘Just cut your losses and leave me alone.’_

_“I didn’t want you to see that.” Neil’s voice sounded weak and vulnerable. It makes Andrew feel uncomfortable, guilt gnawing at his stomach. He sighs, twisting his body to face Neil whose gaze is trained on the cloudy night sky._

_“Shut up.” Andrew knows from experience how exhausting and disarming a panic attack can be. The swell of fear that creeps in, the uncontrollable shaking, and the dizziness combined with the sudden lack of breathable air. It can for as long five or twenty minutes, and it leaves the person feeling anxious, depressed, and frustrated afterwards. “Don’t apologize for something you can’t control.”_

**_Don’t apologize for something that’s obviously my fault._ **

_“But I’m supposed to be better.” Neil says softly. “Normal.”_

_“Normal, huh?” At that Andrew really does laugh. “Everyone’s a little bit fucked up and they’re still considered normal. Its why therapy exists. What’s your definition of normal?”_

_Neil turns to face Andrew, using his arm to pillow his head. “I guess…I guess it’s to live without fear.” Neil’s wide blue eyes are large and imploring as he stares Andrew down. His ( ~~Andrew’s~~ ) beanie is skewed on his head, allowing a few of Neil’s auburn curls to escape from its confines and stick wetly against his forehead._

_Andrew wants to reach out. To push the curls out of Neil’s eye, and voice out a proper apology. It’s what Neil deserves for putting up with Andrew._

_He reminds himself that it’s a dream, so he can do whatever he wants without any consequences._

_In the back of his head, he hears the faint sound of a phone ringing as he lifts his hand to brush those red curls to the side. Neil’s lips form a small “o” in surprise as if he can’t believe what’s happening. Andrew can scarcely believe it himself._

_The ringing in his head grows louder as he says, “I’m sorry.”_

Andrew wakes with the sheets tangled between his legs and the sound of his phone ringing. The digital clock on his bedside table tells him that it’s half past eleven and if he wants to meet up with Renee at her apartment at the time they agreed upon yesterday, he will need to leave now. He lets his phone ring in the background as he rushes to get ready, putting all thoughts about his latest dream and Neil Josten aside.

*

Renee’s usually pristine crafts room is in disarray, the way it normally is when she’s packaging orders and getting ready to send them off. As Renee’s best friend and the only person in their friend ( _more of Renee’s friends than Andrew’s_ ) group that has infinite amount of time, Andrew has been given the task of labelling packages and placing them away in big reusable tote bags.

He’s already finished cutting short strands of gold colored ribbon that Renee’s using to tie the little pink boxes containing her handmade jewelry when he was handed a stack of sticker paper filled with shipping addresses.

“Could you label these envelopes for me?” Renee asks nicely as if Andrew would refuse when he had already agreed to help her the day before.

He simply nods and gets to work on peeling the sticker label off the glossy backing. They work in tandem to finish packaging all of Renee’s shop orders, and soon all three tote bags are filled with packaging envelopes.

“And we’re done!” Renee says, getting up from her place on the floor to stretch her arms and back. “Shop is going on hiatus until I can restock and add some new stuff.”

Andrew is sitting on white linen covered couch drinking the hot apple cider Renee had made when his phone started ringing. He watches Renee pick up his phone off the floor and glance towards him after seeing the caller ID.

“It’s Kevin.” She says, stretching her hand out to give Andrew his phone.

He grimaces. He had a feeling that it was Kevin calling. He’s been persistent in calling Andrew to ask for his draft. Unfortunately for Kevin, Andrew hasn’t written anything since the time he wrote about his first meeting with Neil, so there is no draft to speak off.

“Ignore it.” He tells her, feeling the incoming headache that the mention of Kevin’s name usually brings.

“Are you sure? It might be important.”

“I have nothing to say to Kevin.”

Renee frowns at that but does what he tells her to do. She silences his phone for him and places it on her worktable, so it doesn’t get buried in with the mess on the floor.

She sits down next to him on the scratchy paint-stained couch, concern written on her face. “Is everything alright with you, Andrew?”

“I’m fine.” He says, but it only makes Renee’s frown deepen. “It’s just Kevin being Kevin.” He continues, only so Renee would stop looking at him with a sad look on her face. He hates it when she does that, almost as much as he hates the fond looks Neil would give him.

“What did Kevin do?” She inquires imploringly.

“I just released a book three months ago and already, he’s asking me for a workable draft.” He explains, swirling the tiny amount of cider left in his glass.

“He’s just concerned. You know how proud he is of you, don’t you?”

 _Proud?_ More like he’s fixated on Andrew’s career to ignore his own failed career in Exy after his abusive ex broke his hand. Andrew should have never agreed to changing his old editor to Kevin when he came to work for Wymack’s company. “Even before he was my editor, Kevin has already established himself as a thorn in my side.”

“You don’t really feel that way, do you? Kevin’s one of your best friends.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Renee smiles brightly at him. “But so is Kevin, no matter how much you say he isn’t, Andrew. Why else would you agree to changing editors?”

Andrew scowled, turning away from Renee’s knowing eyes. She isn’t wrong. Andrew just appreciates the calmness that she brings compared to Kevin’s restless energy to be best in everything. Kevin pushes all these high expectations onto Andrew and expects him to be the best as well. While there’s nothing wrong for striving to be the best, Kevin is not aware of the word “ _excessive_ ”.

“Three months, Renee.” Andrew states again to emphasize the ludicrousness of Kevin’s behavior.

“It’s never been a problem for you before.”

Andrew sighs, lowering his glass to the side of the couch, right on the floor where it would be safe from Andrew accidentally knocking it over. “I’m going through a writer’s block right now.”

“A writer’s block?” Renee says in surprise. “You?”

Andrew groaned, cursing his ungrateful brother. _Stupid Aaron and his stupid fucking fiancée_. “Yes, Renee, a writer’s block, and before you say anything: **I know**.”

“Andrew,” Renee says gently. “These things happen to writers.”

“Not me, Renee. Never me…until now I suppose.” Andrew says bitterly.

“Do you know why you’re going through a writer’s block? Lack of inspiration maybe?”

Andrew knows exactly what caused his writer’s block, but he’s not willing to tell Renee yet. Renee is another advocate in his life trying to get the twins to get along better with each other.

A lot of the people in his life prefer to blame Andrew for being unable to get along cordially with his brother, when really _Aaron_ should be thanking Andrew for everything he’s done for him like paying his medical school debts or the “lovely” apartment he currently shares with Katelyn. But did Aaron ever thank him? **No**.

Not only did Aaron decide to propose to Katelyn, he did so without even telling Andrew.

Andrew had to find out that his twin brother is getting married from **_Instagram_** of all places. **_INSTAGRAM_** _._

“All I need is a break. I’ll tell Kevin eventually.” Andrew waves off Renee’s concerns.

“Well then, I wish you all the luck and for your break to be fruitful.” Renee says cheerfully, understanding that Andrew does not want to discuss the matter further.

Like Bee, Renee won’t push Andrew to tell her the reason until he feels ready to. ( _Unlike a certain someone they both know_ ).

“Help me carry these bags to the post?” She asks, gesturing to the pile of orders ready to be shipped out.

*

He’s back in Bee’s office for their bi-weekly sessions when a niggling thought enters his head.

_The dusky blue walls of Bee’s office pale in comparison to Neil’s sky-blue eyes.’_

He clenches his jaw at the unbidden thought of Neil. Must Neil take up all his thoughts, including the time when Andrew is awake?

“How was eating at The Trojans?” Bee asks, tapping her closed-cap pen against an open page of her notebook.

“It was good. The baklava was good.”

Bee nods, uncapping her pen and writing something on the page. He’s seated too far away to see what she could be writing about, and it doesn’t help that Andrew is near-sighted and refuses to wear his glasses outside of his apartment. “That’s good to hear. How was Aaron.”

“He’s fine.” He says, tone bland and flat. There is no need to keep up any pretenses with Bee, so he’s not going to hide his immense dislike for his twin. This is as transparent as Andrew is willing to get about how he feels about Aaron.

“I heard he’s getting married.” Bee hums thoughtfully. “Would you give him my congratulations for me?”

“He hates you.” Andrew says, emphasizing on the word “hate.”

There was a point in time while they were still attending PSU to get them both in a room with Bee to talk about all their issues in a safe, controlled environment. It was a disaster of a session that had Aaron stomping out of the office because of Andrew’s “lack of empathy” about Tilda’s death and his disapproval of Katelyn.

“And you hate therapy, but that does not mean I can’t give him my congratulations. After all, he’s been with Katelyn for years. I’m sure he’s very happy to finally start a life with her.” She looks up from her notes to address Andrew eye-to-eye.

“I’m sure he’s happy for breaking our deal to fool around with some cheerleader behind my back.” Andrew scowled.

“Are you not happy for him, Andrew?” Bee asks despite already having an idea of Andrew’s answer.

“I don’t care about him.” Andree says bluntly.

“If you don’t care about him, then why are you upset about him marrying Katelyn?” Bee questions.

“Because he broke our deal.”

“Is that really the only reason why you’re upset with him, Andrew?”

“Yes!” He exclaims, anger bubbling deep and threatening to simmer over. He pushes himself off of his seat to stand. “He cares more about some girl to care about anyone else. He’s a selfish asshole.”

“Katelyn is the love of his life. They have been together for a long time.” Bee says. It sounds like she’s admonishing him, but she’s not. Andrew knows that in the back of all the red he’s seeing.

“I don’t want to talk about Aaron anymore.” He says, signaling Bee to change the subject.

Bee acquiesces, knowing that nothing will come out of pushing Andrew out of his comfort zone. She gestures for him to sit back down but he shakes his head. “I’ll stay standing.”

She nods, lips turned solemnly down. “Then let’s talk about your writing. Have you written anything interesting lately?”

“No,” Andrew grits out. “I’ve hit a writer’s block.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Really, Bee?” It’s such a therapy question.

Bee shrugs. She places her elbows on the top of her desk, folding her hands to form a “v” to rest her chin. “It’s a simple question, Andrew. How do you feel about your writer’s block?”

“It’s frustrating. Aggravating. I want to write, but I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“ **Can’t.** ”

“Have you tried?”

Andrew scoffs and starts pacing around the room. “Of course, I’ve tried. I’ve been trying for a month now, and yet, nothing!” He throws his hands up in vexation.

He stops in the middle of his pacing as he thought about the sheets of paper locked away in one of his drawers. The pages he’s written about his first meeting with Neil.

“What? What is it?” Bee asks curiously.

“I..I wrote about the boy.” He tells her. “His name is Neil, by the way.”

“Oh? Do tell me more.”

Andrew hesitates before sitting back down. He feels conflicted about revealing the many dreams involving Neil. It’s crazy to feel comforted by a nonexistent being. However, Andrew has been looking forward to sleeping every night to talk to Neil. He feels happy even, and that’s dangerous. To form an attachment with someone he cannot physically touch because Neil Josten isn’t real.

“He…”

“He?” Bee urges Andrew to continue.

“He came out of nowhere. An importunate idiot who won’t leave me alone. Thinks were friends.”

“Do you not want to be friends with him.”

“Why should it matter, Bee? He doesn’t exist. I made him up. I probably forced him to have those feelings for me.” Andrew grimaces, folding his arms across his chest.

“Maybe it’s a sign that you’re lonely, Andrew.” Bee says gravely. She moves her elbows off her desk to pick her pen back up. She jots down a few more lines in her notebook before closing it. “Andrew, you’re an amazing writer and I know you like writing. If this boy is helping your writing, then you should use it to explore anything you want. After all, you hold the power to create the world you write. Use it to understand yourself better.”

“But he’s not real, Bee.” Andrew says weakly, shoulders sagging in defeat.

“Then what’s the harm?” She asks him, staring straight into his eyes.

“I can’t get attached. I won’t.”

Bee smiles softly at him in understanding. “I find myself attached to the main character of your first book. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with people liking the characters they make.”

Andrew breaks Bee’s eye contact to look at ticking clock on her wall. 10:15 A.M. it read.

“Time’s up.” Andrew stands, collecting his hanging black coat from the back of his chair. He places it on slowly, not wanting to look hurried to leave Bee’s office. He’s halfway out the door when he hears Bee say, “Think about it, Andrew.”

*

His typewriter is mocking him, he’s sure of it. Like every night that has passed, Andrew had tried to write a new story. He had a vague story idea that might have worked, but a few pages in, he gave up on it. The story’s too bland and predictable. The main character’s personality too flat and resembling Aaron to a degree. He threw those pages in the garbage bin and buried his head in his hands. He has contemplated throwing the typewriter across the room when he remembered Bee’s words of advice.

_“Think about it, Andrew.” She said._

He reclines his back on the chair, staring up at the ceiling. They’re a deep blue, shades darker than Neil’s enticingly blue eyes.

_“Maybe it’s a sign that you’re lonely, Andrew.” She said gravely._

Making up his mind, he gingerly places his hands back on the keytop.

_“If this boy is helping you write, then you should use it to explore anything you want. After all, you hold the power to create the world you write. Use it to understand yourself better.”_

He takes a deep breath, releases the remaining frustration out of his system and starts to type:

**_“That thing is dripping everywhere. How do you even eat that thing?” Neil grimaced, recoiling in horror as Andrew shoved another mouthful of his delicious half-melted frozen treat in his mouth._ **

_Andrew ignored the grossed-out expression in Neil’s face in favor of placing more melted rocky road ice cream into his mouth. He chews the mini marshmallows obnoxiously, enjoying Neil’s brave attempt not to gag._

_“That’s just chocolate soup with marshmallows and nuts!” Neil exclaims, shaking his head when Andrew teasingly offers him a bite._

_“Suit yourself.” Andrew shrugs, and to further disturb Neil, he slurps down the thick chocolate “soup.”_

_“Gross! I don’t need to see that.” Neil complained, squeezing his eyes shut and sticking his tongue out._

_“Don’t be such a baby.” Andrew teases, placing the empty ice cream carton on the white plastic table. The indoor pool of his apartment building is empty around this time, creating a peaceful tranquil vibe. The redhead sitting across him on the pool lounge chair is looking green in the face. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re a health nut like Kevin.”_

_“I’m nowhere near healthy but that,” Neil points at the empty ice cream carton. “is disgusting.”_

_“Not a fan of chocolate?” Andrew asks, a smirk on his face._

_“Not a fan of sweet stuff.” Neil corrects. He takes a sip of his strawberry smoothie, lips sucking furiously on the straw. Andrew finds himself staring at those lips._

_“Having problems?” He hears himself ask._

_“The drink is just too damn thick.”_

_Andrew blinked, before dissolving into laughter._

_“What?” Neil asks incredulously. “What?”_

_Andrew tries and fails to stop laughing. Looking at Neil is only making it worse. “You…pfft…you are such an idiot.”_

_“What did I say?”_

_“Only an idiot wouldn’t understand.”_

_Neil glares at him, grabbing a napkin and balling it up to pelt it at Andrew’s face. “Oh, fuck you.”_

_“Don’t make any promises you can’t keep.” Andrew says, laughter dissolving to enjoy the pinkness spreading across Neil’s cheeks. Neil looks away and continues to fruitlessly suck on his straw._

_“Here,” Andrew says, handing out the spoon he was using to eat his ice cream to Neil. “Just pop the lid open and eat it.”_

_Neil looks at him then at the spoon before grabbing it. He listens to Andrew, removing the plastic lid and straw off his smoothie to stick the spoon inside. He scoops up a glob of his frozen drink and places the spoon in his mouth. Neil’s expression brightens at finally getting a taste of his strawberry drink._

_“A smoothie is not so different from ice cream.” Andrew tells him conversationally._

_Neil gasps dramatically. “How dare you! They are nothing alike.”_

_“They’re both made of milk.” Andrew points out._

_“You add sugar to ice cream.” Neil argues._

_“They add sugar to smoothies too.”_

_“No, they don’t.”_

_Andrew shook his head in amusement. “Yeah, Neil. They do.”_

_“But fruits have enough sugar on them.” Neil insists in disbelief._

_“Your strawberries are off-season. They need to make it sweet somehow.” Neil looks at his drink, betrayal written all over his face. He stares angrily at Andrew as he brings another spoonful to his mouth. “You’re going to keep eating it?”_

_“I’m not going to waste food, Andrew.” Neil says like a petulant child._

_Andrew uses the palm of his hand to hide his smile. He watches Neil violently eating away his smoothie with a vengeance the inanimate treat doesn’t deserve. He winces the same time Neil does, complaining about his brain freeze._

_“Such an idiot.” Andrew murmurs fondly under his breathe. Neil, however, picks up on it and places his smoothie down. He’s staring intently at Andrew’s lips._

_“Andrew, can I..? You have a little something…” Neil swipes his thumb on the corner of his lips. Andrew raises a brow, challenging Neil to speak his wants. “Can I touch you?” Neil asks, hand raised tentatively in the air._

_“Yes.” Andrew says, heart beating hard against his chest._

_Neil swallows audibly, reaching out to rub the corner of Andrew’s mouth. Andrew leans into his touch, cataloguing the way Neil’s throat bobbed. “Andrew, can I kiss you?”_

_Andrew pulls away and disappointment swims in Neil’s eyes. He lowers his head. “I’m sorry.”_

_“Why do you keep apologizing?” Andrew grabs Neil’s hand, pulling it against his chest. “I haven’t said no yet.”_

_Neil lifts his head, a hopeful shy smile on his face. “So I can kiss you?”_

_Andrew shook his head. “Let me.”_

_He practically pulls Neil out of his seat and kisses him. It’s soft and mostly chaste, he takes his time learning the curve of Neil’s lips. Neil responds back clumsily, obviously inexperienced and the possessive alpha part of his brain is saying **yes, yes, yes**. When Andrew pulls away, Neil is looking at him in disbelief. There are stars in Neil’s eyes and for once, Andrew can’t bring himself to chide Neil for looking at him with fond affection._

_“Wow, I-I—just wow.” Neil rearranges himself back on his chair, running a hand through his messy hair._

_Andrew smugly smirks at him. “That good?”_

_“Yes.” Neil says breathlessly, then he cringes. “Yuck, now my mouth tastes like chocolate soup.”_

_It takes everything in Andrew not to pull him in for another kiss._

Andrew removes his hands from the keytop and reads the last sentence he wrote. Well, it’s official. He’s fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments would be greatly appreciated. It lets me know if people are actually enjoying the story so far. Till the next chapter. Bye :)


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